And Next Week, it's the 48th Anniversary of the First Time I Ate a Cheese and Branston Pickle Sandwich...

 

It's all about anniversaries at the moment.  Following our wedding and remarriage celebrations, my 20,000th day alive and, on Tuesday September 29th (when we were meant to see The Who in Vancouver, but it was cancelled), the 4th Anniversary of becoming a Canadian citizen, another milestone falls tomorrow, Monday October 5th.  Aside from having previously watched a schoolboy Wishbone Ash covers band in a friend's living room, this date marks forty years since I attended my very first proper rock concert!

 

Yes, on October 5th, 1975, resplendent in the hideous fashions of the day, this highly impressionable adolescent music nerd trundled along to the faux-Roman eyesore that is Birmingham Town Hall, quivering with excitement at what might lay in store.  (I went to the show with my schoolmate Richard, who I recently discovered is doing great work as an Executive Director in a company providing integrated housing and care and support services in the UK.  But I digress...)

 

All we could afford with our pocket money were tickets in the nosebleeds, but as the show was in a relatively small venue we still had a great view.  As the lights went down for the opening band I nearly lost my tiny mind.  ROCK MUSIC!  YEAH!  LET'S ROCK!  YEAH!  Etc.  Although having heard the band again recently, and concluded that their bog standard blues-rock was utter junk, at the time I naturally though Dirty Tricks were the dog's bollocks. 

 

As exciting as I found Dirty Tricks back in the day, the main act was what I had come for.  I've always loved prog-rock and music with progressive leanings, so to open my gig account with what was then a very successful band featuring a guy with banks of synths and whatnot was an otherworldly, transcendent experience for me.  At that age I was gobbling up music at a furious rate, noting every single detail about it as I did so, and well on the way to forming the foundation I built for a lifetime working in the music industry.  These were heady days. 

 

The band that blew my mind that night was Argent.  There they are up there, playing one of their two gargantuan global hits (the other being "God Gave Rock 'n' Roll to You"), and to this day I love the song.  During the show there were (obviously, neo-classical) keyboard solos; guitar, drums and probably also bass solos, but even though these days lengthy indulgent solos bore me senseless, back then it was all awesome and wow and brill and cool and everything and stuff!  I was in heaven.  It felt at the time like I had become a man, like I had been through a rite of passage, but losing my virginity to a nymphomaniac down the line certainly later put thought that into perspective.

 

Hundreds and hundreds of shows and thousands of bands later, by an extraordinary twist of fate I will be celebrating the 40th Anniversary of my first gig tomorrow by, you guessed it, going to a gig.  The beautiful twist in the tale, however, is that the band we will see features our friend Chris, from Boston, rolling into town with another band he plays in aside from the mighty Bent Knee.  We first saw Chris Baum play in a mindblowing performance by Bent Knee on Mayne Island in the summer of 2014.  Long story short, I was largely responsible for bringing them back to this area for a Nanaimo show on July 4th this year.  The band stayed with us for three days and in that time we all became unfathomably close.  We just love those kids, so it's fantastic that Chris is headed back here so soon, this time with the bewitching Guy Mendilow Ensemble, to perform on such a significant date in my cultural life.  Neither Susan or I have ever seen a band quite like this before, so it promises to be something special.  What's more, the band will arrive here in just a few hours after this is posted, whereupon we will be taking them on a road trip to a few local beauty spots.  In so many ways, our life is charmed. 

 

OK, here is the extraordinary Guy Mendilow Ensemble for your interest.  Chris is the violinist.  Enjoy. 

 

 

Here's to another forty years of gig-going, then!  Wouldn't it be spectacular if, like this anniversary, I somehow make it that far and another show falls on the 80th Anniversary of my first show?!  That would be so cool, but it's pretty certain I will need some assistance in taking my seat that night.

 

Rock on, everyone... ROCK ON!

       

...or 480,000 Hours

Last year a film was released about my favourite musician, Nick Cave.  Entitled 20,000 Days on Earth, the brilliantly conceived movie was part documentary, part fantasy, looking at Cave's supposed 20,000th day on earth.  As part of the promotion for the film, Cave mailing list subscribers like myself were sent a link to a calculator with which, simply by entering one's birth date, anyone can see when their 20,000th day on earth is, or was.  Upon entering mine I was delighted to learn it had yet to occur, but would be on September 15th, 2015.

I got excited.  My health history dictates that I feel very mortal, so I like to approach life in a way that many see as with real gusto.  I want to pack in as much life as I can until my time comes, so Susan and I are always off on adventures, having as much fun as we can cram into any given day.  Even when simply fetching groceries, we might spontaneously burst into a dance in an aisle.  And why not, eh?  We're a very long time the other side of the soil.  So, when I noted such a milestone as my 20,000th day, my mind went into overdrive as to what to do with it.  Firstly, I thought about a big party, but that idea soon grew tired, especially as this year should belong to Susan's 50th birthday, for which we held a big bash at our home in May.  Then I thought the best way to go was to spend the day doing things and visiting places, that I had never experienced before.  It needn't be anything insane or bucket list-esque, like freefall skydiving or bungee jumping, just a day of fun things.

Inspired by friends showing us some amazing photos of the region, the initial idea was to spend the day exploring the Port Renfrew/Sooke area.  Susan and I love to travel locally; this is a big island with a lot to see and do, so we head out there whenever we can.  Looking again at the map, it seemed like too much to take on for a single day, so we have shelved that plan for a time when we can stay overnight somewhere and spend at least two days poking about. 

 

Instead, then, we turned our attention the Lake Cowichan area, especially the tiny communities gathered around the banks of the lake itself.  It seemed we could easily take in a few places in one day, and be home in time to hurl back a bottle of champers or two.  

The day itself, September 15, started with a hearty congratulations from Susan, then breakfast soundtracked, for no particular reason, by Wanda Jackson, then Gene Vincent.  We set out in no particular hurry, the car CD pouch full of sing-along pop CDs to keep the mood of the day jolly and spirited.  We love singing our heads off on road trips,  so selected our road music accordingly.

Turning off Highway 1 onto Highway 18, we headed down to our first destination: Paldi.  This is a truly odd little place with a remarkable history, which a little of can be found here.  Founded in 1917 by an Indian immigrant named Mayo Singh, Paldi was named for the Punjab village in which Singh grew up, and initially started life as a logging camp under Singh's command.  Once a thriving, bustling community, it now consists pretty much of just the Sikh temple that is attended as a place of worship by Sikhs in the region each Sunday.  Otherwise, where buildings once stood and people once lived and worked, there is just open scrub.  The population of Paldi itself appears to be just TWO, being the temple's caretaker and his wife.  When Susan and I approached the temple a tiny wizened Sikh appeared from tending his garden and, initially bewildered as to what I meant by my 20,000th day, offered us a tour.  We went straight to the back of the temple, the walls of which were festooned with haphazardly hung historical photographs, documents, Sikhism iconography, Gurmukhi writings and more.  It was fascinating, and in broken English the caretaker explained the significance of a few images to us.

 

 

Thanking our nonplussed host we made our exit and headed to our next destination, noting a nearby abandoned shack bearing the graffitied legend "Sikh fag" on its exterior wall as we departed.  It's nice to see how 'welcomed' these people were locally...

 

Following a brief stop to visit the fish ladder at Skutz Falls on the Cowichan River, we headed past the town of Lake Cowichan, along the banks of the lake towards the tiny community of Youbou.  A former mill town, it is now a quiet village where it would appear not too much goes on but the daily plod of rural life amongst its less than 1,500 residents.  There was hardly anyone around, which was a feature of the day in this area.  We stopped at the pretty lakeside Arbutus Park, which even though summer had hardly ended and it was a dry day, there was not a soul to be seen in.  We walked on the jetty and looked across the lake at the gorgeous surrounding scenery, spoiled only by the inevitable clearcut scarring of logging operations all around us.  Such is the way here on Vancouver Island, but having recently visited the Nanaimo Museum to view an exhibition of photography by the brilliant Edward Burtynsky, examining humankind's impact on nature when raiding its resources - which can be ugly, like clearcutting, or actually stunningly enhance landscapes, such as ancient rice paddies - it only served to make me feel melancholy.

 

 

Nevertheless, as you can see above, in an image taken from Arbutus Park, the scenery of my island will always inspire me, even if a chunk of forest happens to be missing here and there.

 

Getting peckish, we headed back down to Lake Cowichan, the town, for a spot of lunch.  Having investigated online in advance of our trip, as one would expect in such a small destination it seemed our range of dining options would be limited, but we liked the look of a place called the Cow Café & Cookhouse.  It was very good.  I opted for the Crab Club and a sleeve of the amber nectar, Susan for a burger in her ongoing quest for the perfect one!  This one ranked highly, it seems.

 

 

Setting off again we drove up the opposite bank of the lake with a very definite destination in mind.  Having only two days prior renewed our wedding vows we thought a stop at the beautifully named Honeymoon Bay was appropriate.  We only hoped that its romantic name would be reflected by the beauty of the place in actuality.  It seems, however, at least from our brief gander at the place, that it could be struggling.  Lots of real estate was up for sale, as was the small marketplace in its entirety, plus several commercial properties in what I must emphasize is a tiny community of only around 600 residents.  It was pretty and charming, undoubtedly an attraction for holidaymakers in the summer, but on the surface has perhaps struggled to keep its head above water in the wake of the ongoing economic downturn.  I hope I'm wrong, as it exuded friendliness and a rare backwater serenity.

 

Apart from an attractive mobile home park the focus of Honeymoon Bay was a small beach on the shore of the lake.  It was getting blustery and the sky was threatening rain when we  parked for a look at the scenery it afforded us from the beach, but was also peaceful and all ours.  We just stood and looked out at the icy waters, feeling blessed that such beauty is so accessible to us pretty much whenever we want it.

 

 

Leaving Honeymoon Bay we passed back through Mesachie Lake, most notable at least as far as we noticed for the amusing name of the small community sports field:

 

 

Back in Lake Cowichan we poked around a few stores, including a staggeringly disorganized, ramshackle odds and ends store, mainly because it had a pile of second hand CDs and DVDs.  We picked up a couple of movies but, as can be seen at the top of this post, I also found a copy of the animated 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, so used it for my own personal photographic ends in continuing celebration of the occasion!  We also stopped by a lovely art gallery, where I picked up a hand-carved and illustrated paddle, plus a pair of cute cat earrings for Susan.

 

On the way home along Highway 18, one final surprise lay in store for me on my 20,000th day alive, although because we were on the road, so could not stop, and due to it being totally unexpected, there was no way I could have grabbed the camera to capture the moment.

 

Having lived here almost nine years we have seen plenty of Vancouver Island's wonderful wildlife, but certain creatures have so far eluded us.  Until September 15, one of these was elk, but Susan's sharp eyesight caught movement up ahead at the side of the highway, and lo and behold we passed a group of four or five elk cows.  Massive, beautiful beasts, and although the sighting was momentary I shall never forget my first ever sighting of wild elk, which just about topped off the day.

 

As I say, yet have no need to, we are a long time dead.  A very, very long time.  Until my time comes I will do all in my power to have as much fun as possible with my beautiful wife at my side.  Susan thinks as I do - that life is ridiculously fleeting, so we should live as well as possible during our tenure here on earth - so, we will always make the most of such occasions as my 20,000th day alive.  People we've told about this appear to think we're cranky, which is bewildering to me.  It's nothing but great fun and celebrating life while I have it.  What is cranky about that?

 

Susan's 20,000th day comes in four years' time and she is already thinking about what to do with it!  My guess is that there will be books and knitting involved somehow, but that's just great.  It'll be her day, so she can do what the hell she wants and the hope is I'll be right alongside her to enjoy every minute, whatever she ultimately decides to do.

 

If your 20,000th day, or another such milestone lies ahead, what will YOU do with it?

 

Love is in the Air

It has been quite the week.  On Tuesday September 15th I celebrated my 20,000th day alive, which will be recounted in the next blog post, but more importantly one week ago today Susan and I renewed our wedding vows.  In truth we cannot even remember how the idea to do so arose, but whenever it was it evidently got us excited enough to carry it through. 

When we got married in Brighton, England, twelve years ago, it was a beautiful but certainly untypical affair.  We had no money, so it was very much a lo-fi, budget conscious do from top to tail:

 - My suit came from a thrift store.

- My (admittedly very cool, Western-style) shirt was left behind by a member of the 'cow-punk' band, the Waco Brothers, when they stayed at our house (and played up merry hell) after a gig I promoted for them.

- Susan's dress was purchased in a sale.

- We got married at a registry office on a Tuesday, being Susan's favourite day of the week, as it was when Happy Days was screened when she was young!  We went back to work the next day!

There are other things I could say about the day and circumstances surrounding it, but besides being the best and happiest day of my life the most important thing to mention is that Susan's parents and other family members could not attend.  It's a long way from Vancouver Island and elsewhere in Canada, and expensive to travel to the UK.

So, when the idea to renew our vows as a further declaration of our love for each other (as if it was really needed!), we thought it would be a blast to do so in front of Susan's parents and aunt - all resident in Nanaimo - but that we would set it up as a total surprise.  We simply invited them to lunch, saying it would be a double celebration for our anniversary on September 9th, and Susan's parents' 57th (!) anniversary on 6th.  All we said was, for fun, that they dress up smart and not be late: 12:30 sharp, please!

In the meantime I had asked a friend, a regular customer at the store and also an Anglican minister, if he would agree to preside over a humanist wedding vows renewal ceremony, and to my delight he agreed without hesitation. 

It was all set.

On the day the relatives arrived bang on time, and as we were standing in the kitchen chatting about this and that, the door knocker sounded.  "Aha, that'll be our final guest," I said, to bemused exchanged glances from our guests.  I answered the door and in walked our minister, resplendent in dog collar and robes!  You should have seen the priceless expressions on the faces of Susan's parents and aunt.

As they stood there slack-jawed I explained that while our wedding was wonderful, their absence meant it was far from perfect on the day, so we had thought it a good idea to 'get married again' so the picture was complete.  They were amazed, delighted and somewhat emotional.  As were we.

We went out onto the deck - it was a lovely sunny afternoon - and I said to Susan's father that he could now give his daughter away if he wished.  So Susan linked arms with her dad and he walked her once around the deck table, handing her off to me with a cheeky, "There, you can have her!" Hilarious!

We had chosen a beautiful humanist vows renewal service from a website (as one does in this day and age), which the minister enhanced with his own tweaks and the inclusion of an E.E. Cummings poem.  It was just a delight.  Hilariously, however, just a couple of minutes into the ceremony the telephone rang!  We obviously ignored it, and never did find out who called.  If only they'd have known what was occurring at the time!  This silliness in some way reflects what happened on our actual wedding day, when Susan's bracelet fell off mid-ceremony, she had uncontrollable giggles, I started sobbing (with happiness) and leapt in too soon when saying my vows.  Nuts, it was. 

I could go on about the wonders and emotions of the day last week, but it was a personal time for the family so I shall reign it in there.  What I will say, though, is that I just don't know what I must have done to deserve such an incredible woman in my life.  Susan is my soul mate, my best friend in all the world, and someone who as a human being is simply spectacular for so many reasons.  I love Susan with all my heart and look forward to growing old with her by my side.   
    

Art Legs

I have a new tattoo.  There it is, up there, after the blood and excess inky gunk had been washed away, a few hours after its completion.  Isn't it absolutely beautiful?  I think so, anyway.  This will likely be my last tattoo for a while - they are not cheap! - but as I've long wanted this particular image to adorn my body, Susan agreed it can serve as my combined birthday and Christmas gift from her for 2015.

My individual attitude to tattoos is that anything permanently displayed on my skin has to be something personal and meaningful, and following my first three tattoos such is also the case with this one.  While the Joe Strummer lyric ("I wanna live, and I wanna dance awhile...") on my left arm and the exclamation "Today!" on my right arm are philosophies relating to my approach to life these days, I also have a Maple Leaf on my right leg.  This simply represents my pride at being a Canadian citizen and living in a country I consider to be pretty awesome.

In respect of the latter ink I also wanted a statement concerning my love and respect for where I live locally.  I love Vancouver Island and, unless fate intervenes, will never leave here.  So, with this tattoo I wanted to illustrate that fact with a representation of my favourite local creatures - hummingbirds - whilst acknowledging First Nations art and culture, and that I live on traditional Coast Salish territory.  It might seem to those born here as perhaps a naive, misguided or overly sentimental gesture, but it was important for me to make this statement.  I mean it, or else would obviously not gone through with it...and because of the amount of shading involved this one stung quite a bit, so you could say I've suffered for my art!

The tattoo is an exact, life-sized replica of a lovely 2010 carving by a Penelakut (formerly Kuper) Island artist named Duke James, that we bought at a market on Thetis Island some years ago.  I've always adored the carving, and have it displayed in my office so I can see it every single day.  When wondering how best to portray my love for my adopted homeland on my skin, I this image was always the favourite.  I love it, and am proud to have it on my skin in this way.
    

Am I a Buddhist?

                                                                                                  (Image used without permission.)

There are numerous creatures on Planet Earth that, to me at least, seem to have no purpose whatsoever other than to annoy the hell out of humankind, some to the point of insanity.  Many people would include flies in this list of 'God's Irritants,' but at least in breaking down waste they serve a purpose.  But, for example, what is the point of mosquitos?  I hate the bastards.  And then, just as detestable, there are wasps.  Man, do I hate, hate, HATE wasps!  Look at that little git up there.  He's actually a very handsome wee beastie, a miracle of nature if you will, but his impressive looks and antennae mean fuck all to me.  I.  HATE.  WASPS!

We have a lovely deck at home, and there is little better Susan and I love to do in the summertime than to take our breakfast or supper out there to enjoy a peaceful meal together in the sunshine.  The local wasp population, however, seem to have different ideas.  The moment we sit down with our food, out they come in vast squadrons, determined to make our lives as miserable as possible for the duration of our meal.

Even the way they fly, randomly and drunkenly dicking around and weaving about in the air, often around our legs, is so goddamned annoying.  Consequently, we've been chased indoors off the deck several times, unable to concentrate on our food, as it gets cold while (note) I wildly swing a swatter about to destroy the little assholes.  Susan is much more Zen about it than I could ever be, at least attempting to eat her dinner, while I turn the air blue, screaming at the stripy little monsters, chasing them all over the deck in a mad rage.  The neighbours must be greatly amused.  Little has given me more joy than hitting a homer with one, sending its instantly dead, tiny body hurtling over the deck railing when I connect sound and true with one in flight.  Yes, for I AM HUMAN, and the wasps will bow down before me!

However, something in me has changed recently, and although I have ideas about it, I think I am at a loss to clearly explain it:

I have actually started feeling guilty for killing the fuckers.  True!

This all started when we recently discovered a small nest on the underside of the roof of our shed.  After leaving it be for a week or so, we simply couldn't stand the hassle at mealtime anymore, so one day last week at sundown, I zapped it with a can of Raid, destroying the nest and its occupants with one short blast.  I watched the little creatures twitch and spasm as they lost the battle for life, finally stopping moving... and it made me feel awful.  I took another look the following morning; there was no sign of life, just a dissolved nest and a few black and yellow corpses hanging from it.

I had destroyed a society in an instant, and it weighed heavy on me.

Our friend Victor - who, if it is even possible, hates wasps more than I do - recently gave us a beautiful glass jar honey trap to help with the wasp problem, which continued apace after the shed nest was levelled.  It has caught quite a few wasps - flies, too - and I watched them as they went through the final throes of their short lives, helplessly trying to escape the sticky fluid they had unwittingly gone to investigate, only to meet their doom.  And I actually felt awful for bringing that about, for killing creatures that know no better than to follow their instincts, however annoying or inconvenient their actions are to me or any other human...

There is so much destruction of peoples and cultures in this world, as there has been since humans learned to fight each other.  With the recent rise of ISIS, Boko Haram and their vile ilk, humans who without a care wantonly set out to destroy anything or anyone that does not align with their vision of how the world should be, has come a change in how I view the world.  I have become more tolerant and less tolerant at the same time, which is a confusing state of mind to say the least.  But witnessing the destruction of astonishing historical sites, simply because they are deemed 'un-Islamic,' or whatever, has evidently had a profound effect on me.  Killing these wasps as I have, wiping out a community of 'innocent' creatures, certainly in my mind draws parallels with what is going on out there.  Quite obviously it cannot in any way truly compare, but the evils of the world seemed to have heightened my sensitivity to my own actions, even if those actions are 'merely' destroying a wasps' nest and all who dwelled in it.

This is very interesting food for thought.  I have been going through many organic changes for the last couple of years, mostly for the better, and in seeing the death of a small society of creatures by my hand - even those that are universally acknowledged as pests - as something that troubles me, is a further mental development I find fascinating.  At the end of the day it is such an infinitesimally insignificant event, both in my own world and the world at large, that I or no-one else need ever give it a second thought... yet I have. 

When I told him about this, Victor just laughed.  Susan, too.  Perhaps they have a point?  Watch this space, as this does not feel like the end of the story.

  

In June 2015, I...

...bought a Billie Holiday 78, with Fine & Mellow on one side and the ever-affecting Strange Fruit on the other. It has instantly become one of my most treasured possessions. I listen to Billie's haunting voice through crackles and hiss that seem to represent the fog of time between its release and today.

...watched my lacrosse team, the Nanaimo Timbermen, totally fall apart. After promising much by starting the season with home-and-home victories against the seemingly unstoppable Victoria Shamrocks - the second best team in Canada - they have since dropped seven games in a row, and are headed absolutely nowhere. AGAIN. Season in, season out, it's always the same. If things continue like this I don't know how the team will survive. A good start would be to get rid of the asshole goalie and a coach evidently well out of his depth. Great players do not always great coaches make, and this is a classic example.  

...was horrified and deeply concerned to learn of a friend (allegedly) succumbing to crack and/or heroin addiction. What the hell does one do in such circumstances? Intervene? If so, how? Stand back and let it unfold to its natural conclusion, whatever that may be? I am still trying to figure it out, but in the meantime all I can do is pray in my own way that she will somehow emerge from this nightmare.

...walked 40 kilometres (100 laps of the NDSS Rotary Bowl) for the Canadian Cancer Society, raising over $3,500 in the process. In the past I've rarely had the courage of my convictions, but having set myself such a difficult physical goal I am very proud of this achievement. It's a good feeling being top dog for once, especially when it concerns something that really matters.

...decided that when I grow up, I really want to work for the Canadian Cancer Society.

...celebrated three years' ownership of Reggie, our utterly beautiful, endlessly fascinating feline companion. He brings us endless joy, companionship and entertainment.

...nurtured our burgeoning vegetable garden. We are still novices, but having lots of fun seeing what we can grow successfully. It's looking pretty good, and in some delicious spinach we've already enjoyed the first fruits of our labours, so to speak.

...thoroughly enjoyed a reunion with a friend from the UK. We miss Jon (and his wife Jenny), so it was great to spend a few hours in his inimitable company, before he had to head off again to continue leading a group of birders around BC. Come back soon, buddy.

...clinked glasses with a friend who, after living and working (as a lawyer) in Canada for 44 years, finally became a Canadian citizen this month. 'Hilarious,' it was, how many hoops he had to jump through after all this time. To reiterate, he's a lawyer of pension age.

...saw my first roller derby bout in quite a long time. As much as I enjoy the spectacle, even better is Susan's wild reaction to events out on that track. She loves her derby, does my girl, whooping and hollering her approval. throughout "Get involved," I said, and she may well do so.

...experienced the joy of our friend Louise diving headlong into her first music festival, aged 65. After two years of ill health, it really was incredible to see her living a little at the ever-wonderful Campbell Bay Music Festival, where...

...saw some amazing bands and artists: Brasstronaut, Slow Sprit, Hannah Epperson, Wooden Horsemen and Speaker Face in particular.

...looked forward to July.

Life is rarely dull.   

Time to Install a Yard-Cam

Sir David Attenborough really ought to haul his ass and a camera crew over to our backyard.  So much wildlife activity is occurring out there, it's just ridiculous.  Beyond the wide variety of birds and Anna's Hummingbirds attracted to their respective feeders, all manner of fauna appearances are delighting us on an increasingly frequent basis.  Following the extraordinary Halloween 2014 Red-Tailed Hawk Sighting, we've had a couple of entertaining wildlife events lately.

Our next door neighbours have a beautiful, ultra-fluffy cat named Bourbon, who likes nothing better than to crap on our lawn.  Short of erecting a barbed wire fence to keep her out, there's little we can do to stop her, but as she's a beautiful animal we cannot help but enjoy her feline magnificence, even if she happens to be pinching one off at the time.  Last week she had cause to make us guffaw, behaving in a way we'd never seen cats do before:

I spotted a lot of bird activity on the black plastic we laid down over the winter to kill off the weeds.  There were maybe a couple dozen starlings ('tatty-heads,' as my dear mum used to call them), excitedly pecking away at something on the plastic.  It had rained overnight and was warm, so I guess there were some bugs on the plastic that starlings savour.  As they pecked away, Bourbon appeared through a gap in the fence, unseen by the birds.  She moved stealthily and rapidly across the yard, belly brushing the ground, then - we could not believe this! - she went under the plastic in order to stalk the birds! A Bourbon-shaped lump moved across the area under the black plastic, causing us to almost spit our coffee across the kitchen (from where we have a great view of much of our yard).  The lump moved slowly towards the birds, then they rumbled the approaching menace and took flight to safety.  Susan was so concerned for Bourbon's safety that she went down into the yard to summon her out, lest she suffocate under there!

A few days later I was doing the dishes, absentmindedly looking out at the yard and bird feeder, when a black variant of the Eastern Grey Squirrel appeared from nowhere, sitting up on its back legs, frozen to the spot.  Not a foot from its face, staring right at it, was an Anna's Hummingbird, stationary in the air.  There they faced each other, stock still, in some kind of Mexican standoff, for a good ten to fifteen seconds.  I watched, fascinated, then the hummingbird decided he/she had had enough of this larking about, so moved like a bullet to one of the feeders just outside the kitchen window.  The squirrel then zoomed across the yard to our gate, climbed it, then immediately jumped off and tore down the back alley at an incredible speed...pursued by two cats!  What happened next, as they disappeared from view, I have no idea.

With so much of this stuff on the Internet, it would be fun to be in the right place at the right time to capture some of this craziness and show the world what goes on in just one backyard in our little town.  Heaven only knows what will happen next, but we would not rule anything out.  If a three-legged cougar came wandering in and started playing baseball with Bourbon, observed by some great blue herons and a couple of elks, it wouldn't feel at all out of place.